Don't let the knitting needles fool you.

Wow. It has been more than a year since I last posted here. That would be kind of unbelievable, if I wasn't such a slacker.

Where have I been? Well, I've been moving. To a new house, although it's in the same town. And I've moved domain names, too. More about that in a minute. To a new career. You'll see it soon, too.

Shortly after my last post here, I entered the manuscript I'd been working on in a writing contest. Six months later, it won. And you would think that was the best part of the story, right? Except it was just cherry on top, because a few weeks before I won, I sold that manuscript -- and two others -- to a publisher. An ACTUAL publisher. So here's how the last six months have looked, basically:

Sold old houseSold bookFound new houseWon fancy-pants writing contestMovedWrote another bookWas finally allowed to tell people about selling the booksGot the flu

It has been a busy six months, to say the least. And that's where I've been.

As to where I'm going, it's a new website -- or a new blog, at least, with a properly author-ish site to come in the next few months. I'll keep this site up until I can find time to properly archive it, but everything new will be here:

Isabelle's spelling homework this week included writing a short story using nine of her spelling words. Why nine? I don't know. Ten is a nice round number. Nevertheless, here is what she wrote, since I am too lazy to generate blog content of my own. (This is an exact copy, including her spelling and punctuation. As you may have guessed, their words are culled from the current social studies unit.)

"The darkened room was lit only by the weakest patriotic light casting errie shadows across my decorated blanket. I, being a citizen, think the government should have a election spisificly on if children want brighter lights in there rooms they can. I personally know what's on my ballot! I am glad to know that posobly I don't have to go back to securing the closet string for light. That is why I want brighter lights. The End.

Acknolegments

This story was compley made up and was done only for schoolwork, so in no way relates to real life. Thank you for reading this essay."

I think my favorite part is the acknowledgments. No relation to real life here, people. None at all. It's like the Law & Order of spelling homework, or something.

A month after school has started, we are finally settling into our routines: dance and soccer and all of the other activities children collect like burrs on a nature walk. Both of the big girls are in school full-time this year, which is lovely in some respects (no meeting the kindergarten bus midway through Josie's nap) and exhausting in others (twice the mind-numbing paperwork! how does Ruth do it, I wonder?). The house is listed, so a new and somewhat unwelcome part of my routine is making sure that the house is showing-ready each day. Which is not the same as having a showing each day, but it is invariably the day I've slacked off that a realtor wants to come by in fifteen minutes.

The whirlwind end to our summer and the constant house stuff has made the start of the year less graceful than I like. Not bumpy, really, and certainly not rough, but the routines and systems I rely on have fallen by the wayside. The difference isn't immediately obvious, except that I am going to Target on a daily basis, we aren't eating enough vegetables, and I can't put my hands on things the minute I need them. Everything I do is getting done at the last minute -- forms dropped off at school instead of tucked in folders, reports written up in the wee small hours of the morning, emails sent out starting, "Sorry for the late response..."

This week, I've been working to change that. Taking the long view. Planning ahead. And already, I feel better. In A Wrinkle in Time, Madeline L'Engle wrote about how our lives were like a sonnet -- we are given the structure, but can fill it as we choose -- and that is what all of these little procedures and planning tools do for me. They're not complicated or particularly time consuming. My menu planner and grocery list, for example, take 30 minutes total, and save me both time and agony for the rest of the week. Taking 10 minutes at night to review my calendar and generate the next day's list means I'm not scrambling to rearrange everything because I forgot an appointment. Doing laundry with a system means that I'm not digging for Ellie's uniform at 10 pm the night before an 8:30 game.

This isn't to say that everything is perfect -- even with all of these systems in place, I am a markedly unenthusiastic housekeeper, for example, and my commitment to hot breakfasts begins and ends with tea and instant oatmeal -- but it is better than it was, and it leaves me with time to spend on really important things.

The longstanding family joke about Ellie is her shark-like tendencies. A shark currently facing some dental challenges, as she lost
three of her front teeth in one week (Two naturally, one at camp via a misdirected throw-in. "Not
much you can do when they take a ball to the mouth," said her coach.)

Like a shark, however, the child cannot stay still, or she is Done For.
In her case, ceasing movement means that she falls deeply asleep, and
beware to those who would try and wake her. While I find this a bit of
a challenge during dinner, I am taking a page from her book this week.
There is much to do, not enough time to do it, and if I rest for more
than eight minutes I have a tendency to fall over face-first into whatever hot beverage I've armed myself with.

The upside is that by the time I am done, I
should have lots to show and tell, including some finished objects and
an update on the 25% Project. Any advice for fending off sleep, beyond the admonition to just keep swimming?

Frequently, when I mention our progress on Operation: Outta Dodge, I get comments and emails that ask me, "Hey! You're moving? Where? How come? When? Are you insane?"

Since my ability to answer emails in a timely fashion has been eclipsed by rampant listmaking and our summer schedule (summer school! Camp Invention! Soccer camp! the pool! eight frillion birthday parties!), I thought an FAQ would be in order. All your questions answered in one place! Content for the blog! A trial run of the new typepad interface! Everybody wins!

You're moving?

Oh, I wish! We are putting our house on the market, which is a vastly different thing. Our goal, of course, is to move, but I am trying not to get my hopes up. In my constant quest for zen-like calm and acceptance, I keep reminding myself that it is useless to worry about the things I can't control, like the market or the other houses for sale on our street. Instead, I should funnel my energy toward worrying about our giant to-do list.

Um, shouldn't you funnel that energy towards making progress on the list, and not just worrying about it?

You don't know me at all, do you?

Why are you moving putting your house on the market?

Space. We need more space. Specifically, we need a basement, because I hate living in a house without one. The girls have been champs about only having a portion of their toys available, but as they get older, they need a modicum of privacy, and room for longer-term projects. D has the chance to work from home more often now, but there's no space for him to do so. I can write anywhere -- hell, Blue Balliett writes in her laundry room -- but it would be lovely to have a dedicated area, so I'm not constantly lugging papers and books around the house.

True story: when we bought this house, I called our insurance agent to switch from renter's to homeowner's insurance. The agent asked me for the year the house was built (1995). Then she asked the square footage. Then, hand to God, she said, "Are you sure that's right? They don't build houses that small anymore."

We don't need a huge house. I don't want to clean a huge house, and I certainly don't want the carbon footprint of a house with space we won't use. But cozy is one thing, sardine-like is another. We're striving for the former.

Where are you going to go?

Not far. D works about an hour away, and we'd be thrilled if he didn't have such a beastly commute. I'm also perfectly happy to stay in this town, though. The beloved Sears dream house is 20 minutes from D's office; I am smitten with a neighborhood only five minutes from our current location. The only upside to our snail-like progress is that I don't have to decide between the two quite yet.

Speaking of dream houses, are you serious about not mocking Sarah Palin? Is that even possible? Won't your retinas detach from all the eye-rolling?

The thing about Sarah Palin is, she makes it so gosh-darn easy. It's like shooting moose from a helicopter. And lest you think I'm breaking my vow, remember...I promised not to mock her IF I got the Sears house. Until we sign the paperwork, it's open season on Caribou Barbie.

You must be tearing through that list, huh?

May I introduce you Baby Destructo?

And her sisters,the Entropy Twins? When these three combine their powers, chaos reigns supreme over the land. Every morning, they wake up, eat breakfast, and stomp all over my list.

What's the timeline?

We hope to list soon. Like, in two weeks, before we leave for a family wedding. I also hope that a money tree sprouts in my backyard, of course. We're batting cleanup at this point -- all the major work has been done, and we're dealing with eight hundred little projects. At times, it feels like putting an octopus to bed. Every time I get that last tentacle tucked in, another pops back out. I am practicing deep cleansing breaths rather more often than I would like.

I have little to report for you right now -- I am midway through all of my projects, and while the progress is satisfactory, nothing is finished or ready for sharing. However, I do have something important for you. I would not come here empty-handed for you, dear readers.

My friend Marilyn is hosting a Starbucks Taste Test over on her blog. Comment, and she'll send you two packets of Starbucks' new VIA instant coffee (apparently still in limited distribution). She'll send it anywhere in the world, because she's just that thoughtful. She's got plenty (thanks, Starbucks!), but knowing how writers love their coffee, you might want to be quick about getting over there and commenting.

A little while back, when Operation: Outta Dodge kicked into high gear, a friend of mine -- a professional decorator,
a woman with so much innate style that she can answer the door in her
pajamas and still look ready for a photoshoot on the cover of the late
great Domino or one of those types of magazines -- came over and gave
me a list of projects to do in order to stage the house. She picked out
paint colors, repositioned my furniture, and gave me a list of
accessories to purchase. And because she knows me so well, she was very
specific in her advice. "Two apothecary jars of differing
heights. Fake mini-apples in the small one. Fake lemons and limes in
the big one. Then a small fake topiary midway between the two. Put them
here. Just like this." She even told me which side of the sink to put
my soon-to-be purchased orchid on. After ninety minutes, I had filled
up three pages of a legal pad with instructions, which I intend to follow
to the letter.

It was not unlike being run over by a very
well-dressed freight train, in the best possible way.

Other friends have helped out, too -- two have given me all of their expensive moving-company boxes from their recent moves, so I don't have to go begging at liquor stores. Another divided all of her shade-loving plants, so I don't have to spend a lot of money on landscaping. Yet another opened her home to me and the girls while the painters were here so Josie wouldn't have to inhale a bunch of paint fumes. Several have volunteered their husbands for furniture-moving duties. Another has offered to come by and teach me some yoga, which perhaps indicates that I am looking slightly more wild-eyed than usual. It is a tangible reminder of the roots we've put down, of our good fortune in finding such an amazing circle of friends. Because of them, we do more than get by. We thrive.

We don't know yet where we're moving. Considering the state of the market, we don't know that we're moving at all, and I remind myself of that every day, right after I look at the listing for my dream house (circa-1920's Sears kit house bungalow, and if we manage to land it, I will stop making fun of Sarah Palin -- THAT is how badly I want this house). Assuming we do sell, there are a host of very compelling reasons for us to move away from this area. Still, every time I think about leaving this incredible group of women, every one of them funny and smart and generous and talented, my stomach pitches and my head feels fuzzy. It is almost enough to make me grateful for my interminably long to-do list, so that I can put off that decision just a little bit longer.

It is rainy today. Rainy and hot, which means tornadoes -- decidedly NOT my favorite thing -- but we are all about accentuating the positive around here, so I thought I would share some good things instead.

School is out for the summer, which means Josie can attack Ellie's folder as she's been longing to do since she could crawl. Also, we have an extra 45 minutes in the morning. The difference is staggering and delightful.

My list today --is blissfully manageable. And it means the project of swapping winter and summer clothes will finally be complete. (PUPA, by the way, stands for pick up put away. We use it often. MBR is master bedroom shade. We have one shade off and one shade on, and I would like to stop feeling like a nursery rhyme.)

For all you Austen fans, my dear friend, author Marilyn Brant, is hosting AustenFest over at her place, in anticipation of the release of her novel, According To Jane. Like Marilyn herself, the book is funny and smart and an absolute delight. There will be giveaways and good conversation, so stop on by, even if you're not an Austen fan (though if you're not, I worry about you). Technically, the party doesn't start until Sunday, but you won't be disappointed if you go early.